


A Handful of Diamonds

by Mercale



Series: Alearustuck [5]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, Alternate Universe - Post Game, Gen, Original Characteres, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Quadrant Confusion, Quadrant Shuffling, Quadrant Vacillation, Romantic Comedy, Seadwellers and Roe Cubes, Troll Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercale/pseuds/Mercale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life gets complicated when people come back from wherever it is that they go when they go away. Karkat finds this out the hard way in a battle for his diamond quadrant.</p><p>Or, for our Troll Readers:</p><p>In Which the Object of Pale Desire is Romantically Pursued by his Estranged Ex, his Wigglerhood Friend who Made Terrible Life Choices but is Trying to Do Better and Needs Support, his Other Friend who has Secretly been Carrying a Pale Torch for him for Sweeps but Never found the Right Time to Make a Move, and Perhaps even a Dark Horse Contender or Two.  Also featuring the Hero's Pale-Blocking Best Bro  who does Not Actually want to be his Moirail, but Damned if he's gonna let his Bro get his Diamond Broken Again, and Various Accomplices, Advisors, Adversarys, Onlookers and Bookmakers to the the Rivals for Karkat Vantas' Diamond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - For All Things, A Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Calico_Jane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calico_Jane/gifts).



> At last we have gotten here. Not too long ago I was a part of the Ao3Auction, and my winner sent me a doozy of a request that is spiraling out of all control. This is the beginning of the result. Applause to CalicoJane for participating in the Ao3Auction and dooming me (though I am enjoying it) to this story for several months.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which A Universe, Galaxy, and World Are Created, Context is Constructed, and Groundwork is Laid.

The cosmos is a vast, almost unknowable place. How it came to be is unknown, how it will end is equally so. Unless, of course, you were one of the thirty-two special youths who knew far more than they'd ever be willing to share with outsiders. They would not admit that they had once stood together, both those with the sparks of life in their eyes and those whose eyes were long since glazed over in death. They stood together on a platform emblazoned with a spirograph, before a structure much like a house that seemed made of chintzy plastic in a garish shade of crimson that made almost all of them flinch to connect with someone they had known. Together they had stood, refusing to reach for the ethereal doorknob in which another spirograph swirled, and they spoke. Spoke and plotted and schemed. Together thirty-two souls spoke of something they had never seen and barely dared to dream of in the face of the troubles they had overcome. 

They spoke of the limitless beauty of the cosmos, of the stars hung in the dark void, and what it would all look like from a planet's surface. They spoke of the planet itself, not too big, not too small, and covered with more seas than land. Some spoke with longing of a great silver orb hung in the sky, others with dread of a star so bright it would sear the surface dry and dead. There was an animated discussion about the color pink on white beaches, and a yellow sun that was gentle and soothing, far enough away to be bearable temperature wise, close enough to make the planet verdant. An ideal kind of planet perfect for life making its way ever around a gentle star.

And as their words flowed three orbs formed and begun to circle the new planet. Two were rather small things of vibrant pink stone circling each other in an unending dance. They recast the light of the nearby star upon the surface of the planet, bathing the nights in pale pink light. Then there was the third and largest, further away and shining with a pure, pale silvery light. Often the planet saw silver dominating pink, but there were hints of both, bathing the night in a light not matching the day, but still beautiful to behold. And with the moons came tides, churning the depths of the seas, rising and falling like the breath of the world itself. 

They spoke and as they did life truly began. Thousands of millions of years in moments as they remembered caves and islands, trees and seaweed, clouds and storms, fish and fowl and beast. Their words mingled and wove a story of something greater. Of creatures that walked on two legs, both those that rose from beast and those from bug. Together they wove a quiet history of peace, tolerance, a tense acceptance of differences. They spoke of cultures and people and a city on the shore. It wasn't too big, or too small, but it wasn't about to ache for thirty-two inhabitants. They spoke of the lives of those thirty-two and the peace they would find in each other and the world. Of lives spent together and shared even as their memories were then and there. 

And at last when they could speak no more one raised his hand to the doorknob, twisted and pulled. Together thirty-two stepped from a platform and into a world in a galaxy in a universe they had created. Stepped into the lives that awaited them, on a planet named Alearus. 

Lives they would live peacefully and content until the moment that the youngest of them turned thirteen by the reckoning of the cycling of the sun. Then the memories started. Not those that wove this place, but those that led to the weaving. Memories of life and death, war and victory, fear and the hunt and survival. Memories of days for some, months for others, years for too many to be happy with that. Memories of a game called Sgrub, or was it Sburb, and standing together, thirty-two strong, on a platform with a spirograph and a chintzy red house shape. Memories of agreeing to meet, living side by side with each other knowing both past and present lives. 

Three years it took to come together. At last that moment when they met and talked and knew it was no dream. This was the reward, long promised and finally tendered. Finally to be enjoyed to the fullest. 

But that moment was two years ago, and so much had happened. They were no longer thirty-two, but how could they be? Things had changed due to the memories, the knowledge, even the lives they had led until this point had contributed to a sense of betrayal almost impossible to forgive. 

Some betrayals are too great to be brushed aside. Some harms linger long after death. Some lives and bonds can never be the same. And so it was and seemed to be. 

Until, that is, there was a knock on a single door that set so much to changing.


	2. Part One - Regarding Parties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Karkat is Angry Over Not Possessing Vast Otherworldly Powers, A Hive is Far Too Messy and Must Be Cleaned, Dave Throws The Best Parties, A Brief Strife Over Roe Cubes is Engaged, the English Language is Mutilated, an Important Person Makes Their Way Slowly Towards Importance, and a Shadowy Figure Who Isn't So Hard to Guess the Identity of Looks On.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we actually start into the actual story. Actually. Yeah. Enjoy.

By all rights, he was a god. 

He had created this pathetic universe with his very thoughts. He had built the universe up through conversation, constructed the very building blocks of the star system in which he stood, and was by every single manner of reckoning the source of all beings—intelligent and otherwise—in the entirety of the cosmos. There was nothing in this universe that he was not the master of, the creator of, the vengeful and loathing god of. Yet, for reasons he could hardly fathom, he stood here in the middle of the mess that was his livingblock and as much as he glared and cursed, the mess did not tidy itself up. How dare it consider, for even a moment, to sit there under his baleful gaze and have not even the least of the tipped plastic cups throw itself into the trash?

“Man, if you think that staring at this is going to get it anywhere near cleaned up, we better get one of your troll therapists in here to check out your head,” an utterly amused, and absolutely irreverent voice laughed at him from the middle of the mess on the couch. “Besides, this is a step up from the mess you call a bedroom.”

“I don't call it a bedroom,” Karkat snapped, turning the whole of his mighty and fear inducing glare upon the so called cool-kid sitting on his couch. Not, of course, that the look found itself a match for the indifferent, mirrored surface of Dave's shades. How was it that in five human years of true memory on this poor excuse for a planet, and the three plus that they'd spent traveling the void of the outer ring in another life, he still couldn't find anything that managed to pierce Dave's unflappable barrier except for talk of quadrants? 

“It's a fucking respiteblock, and you've lived here long enough to know that. And the mess in there is my doing, not the result of one of your poorly planned and executed parties.”

“Man, my parties are always the best parties there are. It's like someone took all of the greatest parties of all time and boiled them down to a fine liquid, which they sent through the stills of the historically wicked to distill the most potent party serum ever to have existed, which was then sprinkled liberally over the entirety of every party I have touched or even so much as graced. My parties are the legends that are spoken of in legends. The only reason we don't get more press coverage and famous people to grace our parties is because they are just so excited to attend that their mere eagerness would actually drop the level of coolness by an unacceptable amount. The secret to a Strider party is a Strider party don't end until...”

“If you try to fucking end that sentence with ridiculous bravado and some shitty human meme I swear to god that I will not only pour apple juice on your musictables, but I will drag a piece of graph paper out here and start to...”

“Oh fuck no!” Dave protested, throwing his hands up in front of himself as if that would protect him from the threatened quadrant discussion. “You get those fucking boxes anywhere near me and I swear I will go tell Sollux that you envy his set-up.”

The last thing that Karkat needed right now was to have Dave doing something like that. Sollux took a special kind of pleasure out of acting like he took more pleasure than was logically possible out of his living arrangement. Not only had he managed to find himself as the heir of a wealthy tech corp in this lifetime meaning he was always set up with the absolute best in electronics—be them the cold metal of the human style, or the warm living-processing power of biosystems—but he had managed to solve the long term problem he'd had with his fucking redder quadrants. He had a full on suite at the top of the hivestem that the humans called a 'penthouse,' which he shared with two of the more bearable females that their group had: Feferi and Aradia. The trio lived in wealth and luxury and the girls were apparently both courting Sollux flushed and pale, leaving him with a vacillation that was occassionally complicated by the girls’ own red/black vacillation. No matter how it went Sollux pretty much won, and he loved it all; found it to be the perfect payback for the fact that his hearing of the voices of the dead had not stopped just because they'd stepped across universes into a new life altogether. 

“You wouldn't dare...” Karkat snarled, letting every bit of his hatred of the idea slip into his voice. 

“Try me,” Dave countered, sounding smooth and unconcerned, even though Karkat knew there was a tension just below the surface, building like a covered pot of boiling water, because that was just the way that Dave was. 

In the end, though, the glare and indifference broke and the two looked away from each other, both secreting their own smirks for their own reasons. Karkat knew that because that was the way these exchanges always went between them. Dave smirked because he was a confident cool-kid and really needed no more reason than that. Karkat smirked because he knew that no matter what else he was unsure of in the world, he was certain that Dave would be there for him. That he'd never go through with such a threat because they were human 'bros' and that meant something to Dave, even if he was stubborn and refused to admit that they were as pale as two people could be without declaring official moirallegiance. 

“So, what are you going to do about this mess?” Dave asked after a moment, still sitting on the couch like it was his fucking throne and he was master of all of the mess he surveyed. Which was, in a way, true. It hadn't been Karkat's idea to have a party to celebrate their second human year of (almost) everyone living together here in Ristart (and really, which of them had dared to give this city they created such a stupid name that clearly referred to their new start at life). No, that was entirely Dave and the other humans. The only thing was that none of them had the foresight to secure a more appropriate location for the celebration. Sure, it wasn't like they could have gone to John and Jane's, or Jake and Jade's, because their human lusii would have expected explanations as to why there was a celebration, which was too much to try to explain. Rose and Roxy and Kanaya had long since forbid celebrations at their place because Kanaya was trying quite hard to maintain an atmosphere of sobriety in their apartment, forbidding all intoxicants from entering the shared home and forcing Roxy and Rose to consume only in moderation when they were outside of it. Nor did anyone want to risk staying with the Striders, because no one wanted to be in a place that allowed either of the Bros to unleash their particular type of 'fun' upon the group—which, more often than Karkat could fathom, involved ninja attacks, sudden strife, and opening doors to find the Bro that was a larger version of Dirk being quite entangled with Horuss, which there was absolutely no one who wanted to see. 

Ultimately location after location had been ruled out until at last Dave had just gathered up the humans and the trolls who were free and in town at the moment and dumped them all, without warning, into Karkat's humble home. Between them the humans had provided beverages and an inordinate amount of sweets—that was clearly the result of John and Jane's mutual lusus—and the trolls had provided everything else. They, after all, were considered fully independent and able to provide for themselves well past the human age of eighteen, where the humans were still working on living on their own or trying to get out from under the care of their lusii. And, of course, none of them had remained behind to help Karkat clean up their mess. They had plead all sorts of things: work, educational material completion, having left a warming box on... 

Which left him with a mess and the Strider responsible, who was doing absolutely nothing to help restore his hive to the pristine order he liked to keep it in. 

 

The way that Dave wasn't even looking at him, seeming utterly unaffected by the chaos around him, made Karkat pick up a fallen cup and throw it straight at Strider's head. Of course it didn't hit him, not with the years of reflexes trained into him by his lusii, but from the lives they'd lived before that. 

“You made this mess. Help clean it up.”

Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, Dave finally pushed himself from the couch and grabbed a fallen plate covered with chip crumbs. 

“All you ever had to do was ask.”

* * * * * *

There was nothing quite so refreshing as the night. It didn't exactly matter what season that night came in, because they all had their perks. The dark season meant the air could have a bitter cold edge to it, but in that season when you looked up at the stars it was almost as if the cold made their light crisp and piercing through the limitless dark that surrounded the world. The light season was warmer, enough to almost feel oppressive even at night, but the world was more temperate then, more filled with life, and people rushed off on the hotter nights to their homes and the pleasures of reconditioned air so they didn't have to feel the oppressive push of heat and moisture in the air. It meant the world was in a way more lonely, but it also meant that he didn't get any trouble on the streets. 

Of course, that didn't say anything about the other two seasons, the ones he'd taken to calling the dawn and dusk seasons, but they were hardly different. They were more transitional things. Dawn season rained more, dusk season was when fresh food was the most plentiful, even for those who didn't exactly have the means to provide for themselves. For people like him. The other seasons weren't as great as the dusk for food, but they were definitely better than the dark season. Better than now when he could feel as much as smell the way the air was changing that meant that it was going to snow. If there was one thing he had come to loathe in his life with a passion that made his own hatred for himself seem dim in comparison, it was snow. 

It wasn't that the cold bothered him, cold was as familiar as breathing to him. No, it was the way that the snow fell around and got thick on the roads and made it hard to walk. He hated the way that the cold that came with it ruined the water around him, making frost and a chill that went bone deep if you let yourself near it. Hated the fact that it got in his hair, and down the back of his shirt, and soaked the cuffs of his pants, and the wind swept in to all of the little warm places and leeched it all away. He hated to see his breath in the air, the way that ice daggers formed on the edges of buildings, the way the frost streaked over the windows. 

Fuck that. Fuck that all. Right now all he wanted was someplace warm and someplace safe. 

How long had it been since he'd been somewhere that counted as both of those? He'd been in safe places that chilled him to the core. He'd been in warm places where he had to watch everything and everyone around him and hope they weren't going to cut his throat just because he looked at them wrong. 

But now, now he was here in Ristart, somewhere he hadn't been in a long time. Which, of course, had been the point. Going out into the world to find himself, to find the answers that he had always known weren't out there but were in himself and he was too afraid to look for them. No, he was in Ristart and here, somewhere here, he intended to find that warmth and safety that his body longed for. 

Running hadn't worked. Which meant it was well past time to come back and face it all. 

* * * * * *

“Oh man, what the hell is this supposed to be?” Dave asked, his voice kind of nasally meaning he was likely pinching his sniffnodes closed with distaste at whatever he was faced with. 

“Well, describe them to me,” Karkat called back loud enough to be heard on the floor above him, not that he gave a fuck. The old olive that lived above him was about as deaf as a digbeast was blind, which meant he was often able to get away with trying to shut Kankri's frequent ranting for equality up by shouting so loud that the noise drowned out even the other crimsonblood's damn whistle—which he desperately wanted to shove down Kankri's throat whenever the other troll tooted the damn thing. Anyway, the shouting was kind of necessary seeing as he was down on his hands and knees scrubbing at a persistent stain on the carpet of the livingblock, whereas Dave was supposed to be in the foodprepblock sorting out what food could be sorted away for later use.

“Like Completely Generic Objects, except smaller and less poisonous green. Actually, more like orangey-yellow, like crossing Dirk's color with a bit of Sollux and a dash of you. And the cubes are made up of little balls that smell like really bad fish. Gah, who even brought this kind of spoiled shit...”

“Chilled roe cubes!” Karkat shouted, leaping to his feet and making a beeline for the foodprepblock. “Fuck when did those get here?” he demanded, grabbing at the plate that Dave was holding about as far from himself as humanly possible. Which was too far by Karkat's estimation because Dave was too tall, his limbs too gangly, and ultimately it meant that when Dave held the plate over his head Karkat could not come close to snatching the plate away from him. 

“Whatever cubes they are, they sure as fuck ain't chilled. These things are warmer than...”

“No, do not even start. Just give me the damn roe cubes!” 

“Not until you tell me what they are, and why you want them so much.” 

“Fish eggs and because they are damn tasty!” Karkat snarled, making a jump for the plate. Not that it worked. Curse whatever cycling of reality doomed him to having most of his friends have at least a head of height on him.

“Fish eggs? Like caviar? Man, Bro B had me try that one time, and I was sick for a week.”

“No, not like caviar,” Karkat insisted. “That stuff's for highbl...”

Even starting to say the word found Dave whacking him over the head without a second thought. One of their agreements back there, back then on the platform with the spirograph that he hated to even think about, they had sworn to each other to never use those terms. There was to be no 'high' or 'low' here, not like there had been on Alternia. No one used terms like 'cold,' 'cool,' and 'warm' when referring to different blood colors. Cold was the seadwelling trolls, cool was the blues and greens, and warm was yellow through maroon. Karkat and Kankri, the only crimsons even though this was a new world, were called hotbloods, which Karkat found to be almost more offensive than being a mutant. But Kankri and the others had insisted, and the humans had promised to be just as ready to slap someone who used the Alternian terms without hesitation. Dave, above all others except for maybe Jade, seemed to take the most pleasure in smacking Karkat whenever he slipped. 

“Shit, do you have to hit so hard?”

“Gotta make sure there's enough contact with your head and that the force of the blow isn't entirely deflected by your nubby horns.”

“Congratulations, Strider, you have officially crossed over into the territory of so annoying that I almost hate you enough to punch you. Almost. Luckily I am feeling rather magnanimous tonight, so everything will be forgiven once you surrender the roe cubes.”

Surely somewhere behind those mirrored shades Dave was rolling his bland white and red human eyes, before at last he lowered his arm to hold the plate at Karkat's level. Karkat, for what it was worth, took the plate as calmly and serenely as he could managed—which meant that he snatched it and rewarded Dave with a bit of a snarl—before leaning against the counter to sample the cubes. They were, in fact, too warm but he didn't care about that. Roe cubes were a treat whenever they were fresh enough to not start smelling like his Alterninan lusus had when it hadn't bathed for a few days after hunting. 

“Man, look at you go at your fish eggs. Almost makes a guy wonder whether you're inhaling them or just absorbing them in that shouty mouth of yours.”

“Chewing,” Karkat countered around a mouthful of the wonderful flavor and texture. How long had it been since he'd been able to throw away the kind of money that quality roe cubes like this called for? Long enough, maybe too long in the grand scheme of things, but he was far less prone to spending his few and far between extra caegars on luxury foods. That was more Kankri's thing, whereas Karkat spent his extra cash—often unwillingly—on clothing that Kanaya thrust upon him when he accompanied the girls on their shopping outings. It wasn't like he wore half of what he bought, but Kanaya was always so insistent, and he didn't want to let her down by saying no. 

Besides, when he had the chance to quietly 'liberate' a package of them from Kankri's fridge, he was more than happy to do so. Kankri called it 'filching' after something he'd picked up from 'British' human television. Karkat called it a tax collected for those times he was all but dragged up to Kankri and Porrim's apartment to live through some lecture about how he wasn't fulfilling his potential in life. 

What did they know about potential, anyway?

“Yeah yeah, don't talk with a full mouth. Ain't nothing so creepy as a mouthful of troll teeth gnashing on something.”

“Or maybe you're just envious of my glorious fangs. How could you not be when all you have are those blunt little things?”

Dave shrugged and hopped up to sit on the counter. The action earned him yet another growl. As if Karkat wanted to have to clean Dave ass off of his counters. 

“Who said you could stop cleaning?” Karkat demanded around another mouthful of roe cubes. 

“Man, why are you even pushing so hard to get this place cleaned tonight? Not like you can't do it in the morning or something. Just relax and throw yourself into your sleepslime and get on with your life. The mess will be there tomorrow...”

“Yes, which is something I don't want. Two other points. One, it was your idea and your party so you are going to help me clean. B, I've got hours before I go to sleep, so it's not like I can't do it now, whereas I only have access to you right now because you'll be heading to sleep soon. Finally, shut up and get back to work.”

For a while the foodprepblock was silent, save for the sound of Karkat chewing and occasionally humming in pleasure at the taste of the cubes. At last he turned to meet Dave's eyes, or shades or whatever, and he found the cool-kid sitting there, staring at him with his jaw hanging loose. 

“What?”

“Did you just say 'one' and then 'B'? Thank the Goddess of Light that Rose isn't here to flip at you for your mutilation of the English language.”

“Oh Jegus, don't even start mentioning the Gods,” Karkat groaned. “This whole religion thing is just...”

“Don't, Karkat. If you start cursing at the gods, you don't know what kind of wrath they are going to visit upon you.”

“And by what kind you mean none,” he countered, pushing away from the counter, leaving the now empty plate—it was such a better word than nutrition plateau in his opinion—behind. “There is no such thing as gods.”

“Yeah, there's a lot of people here that won't agree.”

“Well they don't know anything.”

Which was true enough. Who was in a better position to know than them? 

After all, the gods were them. 

* * * * * *

It never stopped feeling strange that the streets tended to be so empty after dark. That was one thing he'd never really managed to wrap his pan around. The idea that there were trolls who actually lived their lives bathed in the light of this planet's star was just unfathomable really. 

Worse was the fact that his memories were full of a wigglerhood spent enjoying the sun. He had memories of playing human sports like kick-the-spotted-ball-into-goals on a team, loving to play in the full on force of the sun. Back then he'd sometimes lost focus on the game as he reveled in the heat of the sun on his skin. The very thought of it now made him wince. How could he have been so foolish as a kid, even considering looking up at the sun for even a moment would have been a disaster in the life he had come to remember when he was older. 

He knew he wasn't the only one that, upon gaining memories of life on Alternia, had thrown himself happily into a more nocturnal lifestyle. Some instincts from those memories had been so strong that they were almost impossible to overcome. Which was why he was out here now, living his life from dusk to dawn despite the fact that there were few who seemed to do that these days. It felt wrong to live any other way. It also helped that he remembered the person he was looking for now was more of a night person than a day person after the awakening. 

With a heavyhearted chuckle and an appreciation for the irony of it, he sent a brief prayer to the Maker, the god who fed hope, that when he made it to the hivestem he would find what he was looking for.

* * * * * *

While it hadn't been easy, he'd finally gotten Dave to shut up and actually take cleaning seriously. It was moments like that where Karkat wondered whether there were actual alternate versions of them out there somewhere in the universe that were still gods. After all, it was almost a miracle to get a Strider, or a Lalonde for that matter, to clean. Kanaya bemoaned that to almost no end, even as she laughingly pointed out that when inebriated Rose and Roxy were prone to cleaning sprees. Apparently John and Jane were the only of the humans who could truly maintain some illusion of cleanliness for any length of time, though there was a chance that it was due to the fact that they still lived with their human lusus. 

“Man, this place is almost clean enough to celebrate,” Dave laughed as he collapsed on the couch, having just returned from the exterior waste receptacle. 

“No. We are not having another one of your stupid parties. There is nothing in this world that could motivate me to consider having my hive overcrowded by loud-mouthed, over eager, annoying ass comrades. Next time use your own place. I don't care if half of the group gets challenged to strife by one of the Bros, or whether Kankri and his delicate sensibilities walks in on Horuss and Derkon being inappropriate again.”

“Just call him Bro B,” Dave insisted, stretching and yawning. Which made sense; a quick glance at the electronic chronometer was enough to tell him it was getting late by Dave's standards. “It's what we do.”

“You'd have to with how fucking confusing your human mating functions.”

“It's not normally so complicated,” Dave said, his voice not so aloof as it normally was. “Most people just have parents and siblings and all that without confusion and stuff like that. But...”

“You all wanted your lusii, and the world had to find a way to make it work.”

And so it was that things had gotten insane. It'd been easier for the trolls to have their ancestors, what with them mostly being legendary figures. The humans, though, had different ideas when it came to biological relations. They didn't want to know their distant ancestors, or think about how their lives would affect their one day descendants. No, they wanted closer things, wanted 'families' and wanted them to be immediate. So there was the mass of confusion that was the world trying to figure out how to make the humans related to each other in reasonable manners while still preserving the existence of relevant adult human figures. None of it was more confusing than the case of the Strider 'Bros,' who weren't even supposed to be the brothers of Dirk and Dave, but uncles—whatever that meant—who took care of them after their parents died, but Dirk and Dave were twins who had been raised separately and... 

Even trying to keep it all in order in his thinkpan made it ache enough to long for some painkillers. To make it all simpler Dirk and Dave insisted everyone refer to the adult that was like Dave Bro A and the adult who was like Dirk Bro B—the letters mostly assigned based on which session they had been the original 'Bro' of. Karkat just called them douchebags and moved on. 

“We ask and Alearus provides,” Dave pointed out, smirking his cool-kid smirk. “We may not be the gods, but we sure are controlling forces in this world.”

Karkat was about to point out how ridiculous that sounded when there came a series of sharp knocks at his door. 

“Kankri's probably looking for the roe cubes he left behind,” Karkat sighed.

“Well, you could always give them to him. Just not how he...”

“Don't finish that thought. My bilesack couldn't even handle the thought of it. Besides, I like them where they are. Just... I don't know, go deal with him or something. Tell him you think you threw them out.”

“Your wish is my command,” Dave taunted, pushing himself off of the couch. “But you owe me for this.”

“Right. I'll avoid insulting you for two hours or something.”

“For answering a door? I need to make sure I open doors more often.”

“Shut up and go deal with it.”

Dave laughed his sarcastic little laugh as he strode out of the livingblock and made his way for the door. Meanwhile Karkat made a grab for the television remote. He had a few episodes recorded of the Fresh Prince—human Will Smith was moderately amusing even though the subject matter of the show was nowhere near as entertaining as the Thresh Prince of his pre-Sgrub memories—that he had every intention of watching before he plopped himself down in front of his computer and spent an evening doing his online tech-support job. Fuck, he really needed something more interesting to do with his life. 

“Karkat,” Dave's voice came from the frontblock, sounding a little strained. That was weird.

“Fuck off, Kankri!” Karkat shouted at the top of his lungs, not willing to get up and face his 'dancestor' so soon after waking up. After all, he'd only been up for about six hours, and he was pretty sure that it took being awake for almost twenty-five before he was willing to deal with that douchebag. 

“It's not Kankri, McShoutypants!” Dave shouted back. “Just get your ass over here.”

With a sigh he paused the show and pushed himself to his feet. This better be good.

* * * * * *

It took a whole ten minutes of pacing back and forth before the door to apartment 132 to find the courage to knock. A whole gamut of questions ran through his pan as he fretted himself near to death. What if he'd moved? What if when he opened the door he didn't remember him? What if he remembered and still hated him for what he'd done? What if after what if until he'd been almost paralyzed with fear. In the end the only thing that had made him suck it up and knock was another troll further down the hall leaving their hive and staring at him with suspicion. After all, it wasn't common to see someone of his blood color looking so scruffy. Not that they were better off or wealthy or considered 'higher' than others, just that they were usually comfortably employed in the public sector, and thus had something to show for their lives, even at his age. 

When he caught himself starting to chew on his lip, he finally shook his head and strode to the door. Whether it was because he was actually ready to face what he'd face when the door opened or because he'd gotten into the habit of trying to keep himself from getting an open wound that could easily lead to an infection he wasn't able to deal with, he had no idea. All he knew was that he was knocking on the door. 

He had to knock a second time before he heard footsteps and the doorknob twisted. Quickly he moved his hands through his hair to try and put it into some kind of reasonable order, only to find the door opening while his fingers tried to work their way out of the knots. Which left him in an awkward position as he stood there, eyes meeting his own reflection in the mirrored shades of Dave Strider. 

“You look like shit,” Dave announced, even as he came to the same conclusion because of the reflection he found. He had seen better days, there was no denying that, but it'd been a while since he'd seen his own reflection clearly. It was one thing to note the way that his scarf was tattering at the ends, but another altogether to see how the colors at his neck had faded, how the streak of color in his hair had been bleached a bit by the cruel light of the sun when he slept in the small, secure places he could find in the cities or on the shore. His shirt was stained and torn, his pants worn to the point that they no longer fully reached his shoes, and as he took it all in his fins drooped even further at the disgraceful image he presented.

In another life, he'd had been a noble blooded seadweller. He'd been a Prince and master of Hope. He'd been the slayer of angels and the conqueror of worlds. 

Now all Eridan saw in himself—in his reflection—was a hard on his luck fool who'd thought he could find something out there in the world. 

And in the end he'd come crawling back. 

“Is he here?” Eridan asked, his hoarse voice a strange thing to his own ears, especially considering he hadn't said much of anything in the last month or so that he'd been trying to get up his courage to run back to Ristart and admit to what a failure he was. 

“What if he is, fish-face?” 

Eridan found himself staring down at his shoes, his worn and mud-caked shoes, and tried to think of a response. Clearly Karkat was there, but so what? Why should Karkat see him? What did he want? What did he hope to find here? 

Whatever it was, he wasn't going to find it in Dave Strider.

“Please,” he found himself saying, “Just let me talk to him. I...”

“Karkat!” Dave shouted, not turning his mirrored gaze away from Eridan for even a second.

“Fuck off, Kankri!”

For the life of him, Eridan hadn't realized just how desperately he'd wanted to hear that voice until the very sound of it made his legs quiver, his arms shake, and his eyes sting with unshed tears. Strider, the asshole, noticed almost immediately from the way he shifted, arm reaching out even though he didn't seem to realize it. Well, seems like he wasn't the only one who had changed in the last year and a half. Or maybe Strider had changed before that, changed because of the life he'd lived before they'd awoken to their shared past. Either way there was something about Dave that hinted at concern. 

Thank the 'gods' for that concern anyway, because as Eridan thought about how he was about to see Karkat for the first time in so long, looking like the trash that he was sure everyone thought he was, his legs really gave. They weren't the only thing, either. As he fell darkness rushed in around him like a tide hungry to devour the shore and scour it clean with its waves.

“It's not Kankri, McShoutypants!” Dave's holler cut echoed in his pan as the blackness swept in around him. “Just get your ass over here.”

* * * * * *

At the far end of the hall, just at the edge of the corner where the corridor turned for the lobby and the wall of postreceptacles, a sharp set of eyes watched the exchange. As Eridan fell the troll they belonged to sighed and shook his head, ducking back around the corner so as to not be seen. Things were about to change, and he wasn't sure he was up and motherfucking ready for it yet.


	3. Part Two - Trouble At The Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Karkat Does Not Believe That Kankri Is Not At The Door, Troll Architecture Is Briefly Discussed, Karkat Is Far From Amused By His Visitor And His State And Becomes Lost In Memories And Conflicted Feelings, Dave Demonstrates Initiative And Far Less Conflicted Feelings, Porrim Refuses To Clean Someone Else's Hive, Karkat Is--Expectedly--Indignant, Porrim Takes Charge And No One Dares To Cross Her, Eridan Adjusts To An Unexpected Situation And Finds Comfort In Ablutions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Updates, at first, will be kind of irregular. Clearly.

The door slams shut before Karkat can even haul his fucking ass off the couch, leaving him to wonder just what the fuck was going on here. Why would Dave call him over and then close the door on whoever had been there? Was it possible that Dave had just been too annoyed by whatever asshole had been at the door to put up with them anymore? That kind of narrowed down the possibilities of who it could be. Kankri, of course, could prompt that kind of reaction easily enough, but Dave had already insisted that it was most pointedly not Kankri. There was Cronus, no one could really stand that douchebag, except for Kankri for reasons that Karkat couldn't even begin to fathom. There were also times when Porrim got herself into a real fit and no one ever wanted in the path of that, especially Karkat. Porrim just had a need to mother things, and he decidedly preferred it when she focused such attentions on Kankri. More than once Karkat had found himself thankful that his instance of Maryam was relatively sane and stable compared to the Beforan version. 

“Lighter than a smuppets ass,” Dave observed from where he was, and it was that alone that got Karkat to really get moving towards the entrance. As much as Dave feigned indifference towards the hobbies of the Bros, everyone knew beyond anything resembling a doubt—reasonable or otherwise—that Dave found smuppets absolutely repulsive. While Karkat couldn't quite understand the sentiment, it had prompted him to keep a few hidden in his respiteblock to throw around when Strider was really pissing him off. It usually found Dave ducking for cover, and stopped most of his bitching about whatever stupid shit had gotten into his pan at that point. 

Excruciatingly long explanation short, Dave didn't willingly invite the thought of smuppets unless he was highly distressed. 

He only made it halfway to the door before Karkat found himself blocked from further progress by Dave himself making his way further in to the apartment. Not that Dave was normally anywhere near being large enough to block a path in this place; at least not unarmed. The halls and openings in the hives of a troll hivestem tended to be larger to account for older trolls whose size was highly affected by blood or horns and thus needed more space to get through. No, it was only because Dave's arms were burdened with a body covered in stained, tattered, and far too familiar clothing that Karkat couldn't, or maybe wasn't willing to, get past him. 

“Eridan?” Karkat found himself whispering in disbelief, granted a whisper for him was still something like a normal troll's indoor voice, but still, he knew it was quiet for himself. 

“Yeah, the douchefin collapsed at the door, asking for you,” Dave answered, pushing past Karkat and heading for the livingblock. “Gotta put him down somewhere. Got a problem with the couch?”

“None, other than him stinking up the place. Fuck, he smells like week dead tweetbeasts. Are you sure you found him at my door? I'm going to have to Febreeze the hell out of the thing now...”

Dave didn't say anything, something Karkat was immensely thankful for. The simple truth of the matter was that for the life of him, he didn't know how to react to what was happening. How was it even possible that Eridan would show up on his doorstep, a year and a half after his disappearance, obviously battered and broken in ways that Karkat couldn't begin to fathom. The troll unconscious in Dave's arms, soon to be stretched out on his own couch, was nothing like the troll he remembered. Where was the powerful, confident, unfailingly honest and painfully desperate troll that he remembered growing up with on Alternia? The person that he'd spent hours discussing relationships with, arguing about military moves that could best suit the Empire, and just all around being friendly with.

Oh, right, of course. How could he forget? Eridan had fallen, as many of them had, except he had taken so much with him. In a single act of lost hope the elitist troll had slain two of their number, destroyed the only matriorb they had, and nearly killed Sollux. Karkat had been left there, staring in shock, unable to process any of what was happening. Things had only gotten worse from there, and culminating in more deaths—very nearly his own—that numbered Eridan's among them. Sure, they'd gotten Kanaya back, and Sollux had only been blinded before his eventual and heroic death, but the losses had been great, and Karkat's refusal to sleep for the longest time hadn't helped things. 

There had never been a time in his dreams to rebuild shattered bridges when he'd intended to, and by the time he'd started to get glimpses of Eridan in the edges of his awareness in the bubbles, he'd stopped thinking Eridan was worth redeeming. What was the point of helping the dead? Vriska had only gotten more bloodthirsty and had corrupted some of the more annoying, though relatively harmless trolls that had already been dead. In fact, the more that Karkat saw of the dead, the less faith he had that any of them were worth spending time trying to help. Eridan had gotten near topping that list, considering how he was too cowardly to even face the people he had wronged. Sure, there had been other Eridans in other places who wanted to steal his time for other reasons, but none of them were the Alpha, none of them were the one that had personally wronged him. None of them mattered.

Maybe that was why Eridan had run so shortly after they'd all finished gathering in Ristart. Maybe it was his guilt over what he'd done to Fef and Kanaya, or the fact that no one seemed to trust him. Or maybe it was just that he'd always been an elitist, bloodcentric bastard who had never been worth anyone's time. 

* * * * * *

The smell thing was by and large an exaggeration, though a relatively justifiable one. Sure the troll didn't smell good, but it wasn't hard to tell why. Though his life on Alearus didn't really provide any insight on this in particular, the memories of Earth made the way that this Eridan guy looked far too familiar. Back on Earth his life had been posh at worst, funded by the insane income his Bro had made from smuppets. Yet the apartment hadn't been in the best part of town—mostly for the irony of someone so wealthy staying in that part of town—and Dave had seen plenty of people like this on the streets coming home from school. People who sat on the side of the road with signs that promised services for food or money or a drink. People that had been living on the side of those streets for longer than Dave could remember. People who ate out of dumpsters and trashcans and the castoffs of other people. He had pitied them, unironically, and Bro had been prone to 'accidentally' buying too many pizzas and then dropping them while walking home. Or buying clothes he'd never wear and then throwing them immediately out. It was what they could do without being constantly plagued with requests for handouts, even though it had given Bro a reputation for wasting money and earned him more ire than thanks. 

Wherever Eridan had been since his abrupt departure, Dave could almost guarantee he'd missed more than his fair share of meals, and had maybe seen some piece of cardboard over his head and called it a roof one night in every ten. It was almost a miracle that his clothes were in as good condition as they were, that they didn't smell too much worse than week old food, and that his glasses weren't utterly broken at this point. Then again, he didn't know what homeless seadwellers did. There was always a chance that the fishy troll had been living underwater when he could, seeking out things he knew were edible and keeping his clothes clean by the virtue of being underwater. What he did know was that the clothes looked far too loose on him. 

He was about to say as much, not to mention take some pleasure in ordering Karkat around his own hive, when he looked up and saw his shouty friend just standing there by the couch, staring at Eridan. Staring in that kind of way that mostly was just zoning out pretty seriously and getting far too caught up in his damn head for anyone's pleasure. Whatever Karkat was thinking of—and the grimace on his face was that special kind of grimace that said his train of thought wasn't one Dave would appreciate—it obviously wasn't the health of this poor sucker on the couch. Dave didn't want to know what Karkat was thinking about, because he was pretty sure he was going to be annoyed enough to smack the idiot for putting whatever it was before the health of someone that could seriously use someone looking out for him. 

“Find him something to eat. Clearly could use some roe cubes on his bones or something. And let him sleep,” Dave instructed, hardly waiting for his words to register for Karkat before moving away from the couch.

“Wait... Where do you think you're fucking going?” Karkat demanded, finally snapping out of his revere. 

“I'm off for my appointment to marry your hairdresser,” he breezed, both over the subject and past Karkat, heading for the door. 

“Dammit Dave, don't you leave me here with this guy!”

It wasn't the last thing Dave heard as he left the apartment, but the last bit of shouting that was intelligible before he slammed the door behind him. Now to get someone who would actually help the asshole camped out on his bro's couch. 

The only question was just who he was supposed to turn to. The most obvious option, of course, was to grab one of the former Life queens, but that didn't seem exactly feasible. The stabby seadweller who was apparently fated to grow up to become Sea Hitler wasn't available, what with her and the Light trolls bouncing out of town within days of the last arrival of the heroes in Ristart. So that ruled her out, and to be honest Dave wasn't sure she wouldn't be just as ready to make shish kabobs out of the fishy asshole the second he looked away. Then there was the fishy princess, up in the penthouse with the tech douche and the creepy half cheerful, half morbid Time girl. From what little he remembered learning about things in the session, Eridan had been personally responsible for her 'culling' on the asteroid, which made that a no-go considering the stupidly complex social rules of trolls and all that shit. Apparently hating each other was absolutely okay and lead to massive amounts of stupid hatesex, but killing each other over hate was wrong and an abomination. That, of course, left his best bro's sister-slash-grandmother, the cooking queen, and he wasn't exactly sure he'd be able to pull her out of the protective clutches of Dad Crocker any time after dark. Why there were threats against the heirs of the Crocker Corporation was beyond him, but that was just something he was going to have to accept. 

Which meant a long trip up the fucking stairs—not so many as to his own apartment across the street, but enough to be annoying—and dealing with some thickpans who he just was not in the mood for. In fact, the trouble he had expected them to cause began almost the second he knocked on the door. Okay, maybe not that fast, but within moments he heard the mumbling that hinted at the pain he was going to have to go through to get the help that was needed. 

“Who is it?” Kankri's voice demanded from the other side of the door. “Do you not fathom the time at night which you have decided to impose yourself upon us? While I completely respect your right to...”

“Kankri, shut the ever living fuck up.” 

There were just some people that it was honestly hard to be ironic and cool around. Kankri and his ability to go on at exhaustive length was one of them. 

“Your language, while understandable, is not one with which I am comfortable and I would not want to force my opinions upon you regarding...”

“Just get Porrim,” he growled through the wood. “And if you don't I'm going to break down this door and let her know that you're denying me my right to access her.”

There was silence for a while, as if Kankri was actually weighing Dave's words heavily in his head. Leave it to Karkat's inner social justice blogger made manifest to have to actually think about whether Dave actually had a right to speak to Kankri's roommate or not. At last there was the sound of locks being thrown, and the door was creaking open. Dave didn't even give the annoying troll a chance to open it fully; after all he'd had almost as much training in this life as the last, and it was a simple matter to literally jump over the head of the older McNubbyhorns thanks to the excessive height of troll architecture. Kankri shouted in protest, predictably, but Dave kept moving. 

It didn't take long to find Porrim in the kitchen, tidying things up in an obsessive way that made him tempted to send her down to clean Karkat's apartment as well. 

“Ah, Mister Strider, what is it that brings you here this late at night? Did we happen to leave something at the party? Kankri was complaining that yet another package of roe cubes had gone missing, but he is prone to claiming that,” she said by way of greeting, not even looking up at him. 

“Those? No, Karkat finished eating them, so no worries about finding them anytime soon. Ain't what I'm here about anyway. Someone left something a bit more troublesome on Karkat's doorstep and we need some help dealing with it.”

“I am not helping you clean his apartment. I am no one's maid, class aside, and I will not be lowered to performing duties that you find beneath yourselves. If it's beneath you, I assure you that it is far further below me to...”

“Fuck, do either of you take a fucking break from fighting injustice in this world? No, don't tell me. This is a bit more important than whether or not females are being asked to clean up Karkat's personal hell hole. Don't even think about cutting me off, Porrim. We genuinely, unironically need some help down there. I don't know much about helping sick people, and Karkat's pretty much useless...”

“Someone is sick?” Porrim asked, wiping her wet hands on a jade and crimson towel—Where did they even find something so hideous? Dave thought—and turning to give Dave her full attention. “A random stranger or...”

“One of us,” Dave confirmed. “I'd have gone to get the fish Princess but the situation is a bit complicated.”

“And Miss Crocker?”

“Crocker Pop has those two locked up tighter than Kankri's shameglobes when it comes to night. Another death threat.”

Porrim rolled her eyes, “As if that would be of any danger to Jane.”

“Yeah, but we can't exactly blame her for not telling her dad everything. Anyway, I can't get any of the specialists, so I've got to find the next best thing. So?”

The troll closed her eyes, crossed her arms over her chest, and lowered her head in clear thought. While he didn't quite hold his breath waiting for her answer—in fact he was perfectly composed and indifferent on the outside—he still couldn't say he was positive what he response would be. At last Porrim looked up, meeting his mirrored shades with a calm that few others ever dared when faced with his visibly cool self-control and their own reflections, and she nodded.

“Take me to this trouble of yours.”

* * * * * *

How dare Dave do this to him!? Of all of the innumerable outrages that the human had visited upon him tonight, this was no doubt one of them. Likely the worst of them, but definitely near the top. Dave had brought the party to his apartment. Dave had let everyone escape without forcing them to clean things up. Dave had been the one to drop Eridan on the couch with not so much as a scrap of fucking permission. And, perhaps the greatest of all sins, was this latest offense: bringing Porrim and Kankri into his apartment without his permission. 

Porrim had all but ignored Karkat as she swept into the room. Sweeping was, of course, the only term that properly described just how Porrim moved. She possessed a kind of disinterested elegance that Kanaya attempted, and failed, to cultivate. Not that he even began to think that Kanaya wasn't elegant with a capital e and a shout pole, but Porrim was an elegant that was quiet and unassuming and smooth like the way that Rose's mother used to describe a fine scotch. The way she moved was like fine trollish poetry, like satin over marble, like tendrils of smoke rising off of a lit cigarette, like the flow of a perfect romcom movie.

Kankri, on the other hand, oozed into the room, radiating a level of disdain that he didn't even seem aware of or realized how counterproductive to his point it was. There was nothing quite like the self-righteous asshole who went about his life spouting the claim that people had not right to tell each other how to live their lives, even as he went about telling them how to live their lives. It wouldn't have been so bad, either, if it wasn't for the fact that the guy tended to pick some of the most trivial things that there were to be upset about. Currently Kankri was focused in upon the rights of people who found the term 'warmblood' to be unacceptable because it implied that 'cooler' bloods were either more like reptiles or were cold-hearted and emotionally unavailable. Karkat was more than willing to argue for that case, but there were few cool or cold bloods who even gave a fuck about the term. It had, after all, been used for the majority of civilized culture. Why couldn't he at least be doing something about the fact that they were called 'crimsonbloods' and thus distanced them from other people? Or the human fear of concupiscent relations between individuals of the same gender. Or he could jump on Porrim's bandwagon and harp on that female marginalization thing, though it wasn't so bad on Alearus as it had apparently been on Earth or Beforus. 

Yet neither of them earned his hatred so much at this moment as Dave FUCKING Strider, who had dared to bring them into his home, uninvited, twice in one night. How dare he do a thing such as this without warning? Surely they could have hauled Jane out of her lusus's custody for an evening to deal with the situation. After all, she was capable of reviving people—he remembered that first hand—so surely that would translate well to dealing with someone who was merely unconscious. 

“Ah, the younger of the Amporas,” Porrim observed, her voice rolling through the room in an almost soothing wave. If there was one thing that Karkat had to grant the Maryams, it was that they radiated sophistication and compassion without a thought. They just were and they didn't care who knew it. “From the look of him you were quite right in soliciting my assistance, Strider. Get broth. Something rich and not too high in sodium. That would only further the dehydration he is suffering from. Heat it modestly and bring it in a large tupperware and with a spoon. Kankri you are to bring me a full pitcher of water. Room temperature of course. Karkat...”

“Now just you wait here!” Karkat snarled, storming over to the party assembled around his couch. “You cannot just come into my apartment and start ordering me around like... like... Like some kind of fussyfangs or something. This isn't your...”

Porrim, who had previously moved to kneel next to the couch that she could better inspect the ill troll, slowly rose back up to her full height, and looked at him down her nose with something akin to disdain. But the disdain was, in its own way, a beautiful thing. Regal; imperial even. The simple truth was that of all of the trolls he'd ever known, Porrim was the one who would most easily be mistaken for royalty, were it not for her blood color. Meenah had been too crass, and Feferi too cheerful and involved to be considered royal by troll standards. 

“I am going to assume that the issue at hand here is that you assumed, when I said your name, that you had a place to comment upon what was occurring here. The truth of the matter is that you do not have such a place. You will politely go about the tasks I set you to. And your task, at this point, is to search your own possessions, or among those available to you through our friends, to find more serviceable clothing for your guest. Do not disappoint me by implying such work is beyond or below you. Now get about the work and leave us to what must be done until you have achieved your task.”

The look on her face, the fury hidden behind patience and serenity, was enough to drive Karkat from the apartment, without a word, to find something that might fit Eridan. 

* * * * * *

“If you are aware of what is causing Karkat's obvious distress over the young Ampora's presence, Dave, I would highly encourage you to share before I become annoyed,” Porrim insisted, moving to kneel by the unconscious troll once more. 

She reached out and carefully brushed a lock of Eridan's hair from his eyes, and found herself tsking over the slightly oily quality she felt there. If this Ampora was anything like Cronus then the condition of his hair was almost as much of a testament to how poorly he'd been living as the state of his clothes and body. There was no question, though, that he had hardly been well cared for since his departure from Ristart so many perigees back. 

With a sigh Porrim took the bowl of water and wash cloth she'd had Kankri fetch, and carefully started to clean the poor troll's face, waiting for Dave's response. 

“From the way I've heard it, there were some complications after their session. The chase by Bec Noir got things complicated. I think he freaked out because of it all, tried to get someone to join with the hell beast. There was a fight. Someone died, the troll baby ball broke, and it was all fucking complicated. Ultimately he died because of someone, and things were just complicated. There are hard feelings.”

“There are many feelings, hard or otherwise, shared among the trolls these days. It is almost startling to realize that the things that we remember and we base our current lives upon are not things we have personally physically been through. It is clear that we need to begin to realize that who we were then is not necessarily who we are now. Does this make any sense?”

“Perfect,” Dave agreed. “Sometimes it's just hard to separate things.”

“Indeed. Now, is the broth finished?”

“Give me a moment. I need to take it off the stove. Or heat platform or whatever it is that you call it.”

“I personally call it a stove. Sometimes the simplicity offered in human dialog is more than adequate to discuss things. Please, do fetch the broth. I expect he shall awaken soon.”

“Why?”

“Because she's smart,” Eridan croaked out. Porrim could not keep herself from smiling softly at the frustrated—albeit strained—sound of his voice. It reminded her of the fuzzy memories she had of the times before Sgrub. When Cronus had been younger, simpler, happier than he was now. Back then he had been a totally different troll, one who believed in things larger than himself. How sad that the heir to his power had fallen so far. 

“There was a twitch in his fins,” she explained, not turning at all to look at Dave. “The broth, please.”

“I don't want...” 

Porrim did not keep herself from the urge to pinch his cheek, and retained her soft smile all the while. There were always tells with trolls like this. Without a word she waved Dave off and turned the entirety of her attention to the infirm seadweller before her. 

“You will take it anyway,” Porrim insisted, and when Eridan tried to sit up she gently pushed him back down. She had been wrong, though. The ease she had forcing him to lay down against his clear wishes was more than enough proof that the violet was ill. There should have been no situation at all which would allow a jade to overpower a violet. “It is quite clear that you are very weak. Broth is the most exciting thing you will be enjoying for a while. And please do not continue to attempt to sit up. You do not have the energy, or the force of will, to best me at this point, Ampora.”

“Don't even try fucking with this broad,” Dave suggested, before the sound of his retreating footsteps informed Porrim that she was not going to have a chance, at least at this point, to reprimand him for his input. 

“Maryam?” Eridan asked, squinting up at her. Of course it was hard to tell whether the squinting was to improve his vision, or because he was having trouble accepting her presence. 

“Indeed,” she agreed, turning away to grab the cup of water. “Here. You look as if you haven't properly wet your throat in days. Ah, now that might be a fitting idea, once we have gotten you able to stand on your own feet. Strider, does Karkat have an ablution trap or does he...”

“Karkat is so fucking in love with the bubbles of his bath that it's pretty much just ridiculous. Maybe the bubbles make him think about his lusus or something. Tub so deep you could make gallons of rotgut in there, fueling all the worst kinds of parties and an entire counter-prohibition movement all on his own.”

It took far more energy than expected for Porrim to resist the desire to roll her eyes at the words. There was something about the mannerisms of the Striders that was abrasive in the worst way. Why could they not be more similar to the pleasant manners of the Lalonde portions of the blood ties of the humans? Regardless it was what it was, and she could do little more than allow the comments to run over and past her as if it was nothing at all. Such methods had sufficed these last few years, and she was not about to abandon them because one Strider in particular had gone so far as to make a joke of whether or not Karkat had a place where their injured seadweller could wet his fins. That and clean the scent off of his flesh. While a human might not be the best at picking up on the full bouquet of scent the world offered, trolls could and it was more than certain that Eridan needed more intimate awareness of cleansing bars than he had managed in perigees. 

“What's going on?” Eridan asked. She ignored the question and pushed a glass of water into his hands. 

“Drink. From what little I've heard so far, you collapsed upon arriving at Karkat's door. I would suggest this is because you have been taking rather poor care of your body. You are showing signs of dehydration, malnutrition, and poor hygiene, which is ironic considering the state of your facial fins implies that you have had frequent experience with bodies of water. And...” 

Porrim pressed her hand against Eridan's brow, and sighed at the temperature she found there. He didn't feel like the characteristic temperature of a violet. Instead he felt more like a cerulean, maybe even a teal, which meant he was running a rather impressive fever on top of everything else. Were it not for the inherently stronger constitution of coldbloods, he likely would never had managed to make it here in the first place. 

“I don't want...”

When Eridan tried to set the glass of water aside her patience broke. Porrim's hand closed around his, forcing him to hold on. His eyes went a bit wide as he clearly tried to struggle against her and wasn't finding the strength to do it. Of course his eyes only went wider as she pushed the glass towards him and used her other hand to force his mouth open like she would that of a barkbeast. Fear, maybe even a kind of refusal, flashed across Eridan's face before he finally relented and allowed Porrim to pour nearly half of the glass of water down his throat. 

“There, you will feel much better as soon as you stop fighting.”

“The only thing he knows how to do is fucking fight against his best interests. That is entirely the purpose of Eridan in any lifetime or space.”

The way that Eridan went rigid at the sound of Karkat's voice was... interesting. It was impossible not to notice the way that her patient had frozen. Whether it was the words, or their bile, or their source Porrim couldn't tell, but the effect was undeniable. There was nothing good that would come from leaving Eridan here for now. If this was the reaction he had to the person he had come to seek out reacting to him, well, Porrim intended to shelter him until he was far more capable of dealing with it.

* * * * * *

Karkat hated him. Absolutely, positively, undeniably hated him and Eridan didn't know how to handle it. It was one thing to wake up in a place he wasn't familiar with, another to have Porrim fucking Maryam hovering over him looking like she was ready to do him in with a wet cloth that felt fucking cold on his forehead. Then, of course, she had proceeded to attempt to drown him with her freakish strength that made absolutely no sense. There was no way in the world that a jade should ever be able to overpower a violet, and so the only answer there could possibly be would that somehow she was clearly far stronger than even Equius for reasons that could never be understood. It was unfathomable and he wasn't going to try to fathom it right now. 

Right now what he cared about was the fact that the water was washing out the sounds of the fighting going on in the other block. Porrim had refused to allow him to remain in the room while she was fighting with both Karkat and Kankri, and thus had seen half a bowl of broth into him while forcing the two crimson trolls into silence with a glare. Once that had been done she had taken over Karkat's hygieneblock and directed Dave to see him into a warm soak. So, while she battled Karkat and Kankri, Eridan had found himself stripped by the hands of the Dave human, and all but thrown into a deep tub of hot water, surrounded by the wonderful and tempting smells of a variety of soaps, cleansers and other items that would make this more pleasant. 

It hadn't taken long for Eridan to just fully submerge himself under the water. The feeling of the heat on his fins and in his gills was amazing compared to the frigid cold of the sea. He'd almost forgotten about the simple pleasure of heat all around him. Of course it was a pleasure he soon found himself abandoning. Dave and Porrim hadn't been wrong when they'd implied he needed this. It only took a few moments before the water was too murky to be of pleasure. Quickly he grabbed a bar of soap and started to scrub his flesh as clean as he could manage given how weak his arms felt. 

The shouting was far easier to pick out with his head above the water. Karkat was yelling about unwelcomed guests and refusing to let someone stay on his couch when that someone had obviously never cared enough to take care of himself in the first place. Kankri was going on, at horrifying length, about proper respect for those trolls and humans in the world who did not have the ability to care properly for themselves and lived on the streets. Odd how Eridan had never really thought of himself in that manner. But it wasn't like Kankri was wrong. And Porrim...

No, Eridan was not going to listen to any more of it. He turned his attention fully to soaping his body and rinsing it in the blessedly hot water. That was what he wanted right now, and that was what he was going to do. Think of nothing but the feeling of the water on his body. Except it was getting too filthy for him to want to deal with, especially with his gills desperately wanting to pull some pure, pleasant water through them. Luckily Karkat's ablution trap was a high quality one, emptying in moments and refilling nearly as fast. There was, of course, none of the specialized cleansers that one poured into the water to help clean the gills, but Eridan lived with it as he let himself slide completely below the water, pushing the water control knob down and off with his toes. The wonders of a hot bath were not to be trifled with, especially when you could see through it with a clarity that didn't make any kind of sense when you compared it to the depths of the ocean. Not that he could see very much seeing as he'd taken his glasses off along with everything else. The Dave human had promised to see that his clothes were washed and repaired to the best of the abilities offered to them—which of course meant Kanaya was going to know he was back and that was not going to be good—and had even offered to have Jade look over his glasses to make sure they weren't going to fall apart, but that would be tomorrow. So for now all Eridan had was the tub, the water, and the scraps of clothing that Dave had stolen from, of all people, Cronus. 

Maybe coming back here hadn't been the best idea. Maybe he should have stayed away. Clearly, if the muffled sounds beyond the water were any indication, the fighting was still going on. This was a mistake. This had been such a mistake. Why had he even bothered to return to Ristart? What had he been looking for? It wasn't like he was going to find it here. The reception wasn't exactly warm.

“Eridan?” Porrim's voice sounded hollow as it echoed through the water he hid himself under. But the sound of it found Eridan surfacing almost immediately, looking frantically around to make sure Porrim hadn't come in and seen him naked. Even Dave had only seen him in his undergarments, which was far more than he was comfortable with. 

“Yeah? What do you want?”

“Just to be sure that your cleaning is coming along well. Forgive me, I do not wish to rush you, but I would like to get the remainder of the broth into you before we take you home.”

“Home?” Eridan found himself parroting. When was the last time he had a place like that?

“Karkat has... decided that he does not desire your presence here are the current juncture. Yet I have determined that you are too ill to be on your own. Dave offered his own place for your care, but we have deemed it unintelligent due to the stress that exposure to the Bros might inflict upon you. Thus the only place for you at this point is with Kankri and myself. We can afford to spare the couch, and I would prefer to keep you where I can observe you until we can request Jane's presence to see if there is anything else that needs done beyond rest and food.”

“I...”

“I will not be taking 'no' as a response. Please, finish your bath and change so that we can get you situated for the night. I do believe Kankri has some roe cubes in the thermalhull in case you are hungry and willing to try solid food...”

The offer of roe cubes was more than enough for Eridan to temporarily abandon his self loathing and pull the stopper from the trap. After all, it sounded much better than broth.


	4. Part Three - Opinions on Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Coffee is Insulted More Than Once By Tea Drinkers, And Lauded By Coffee Drinkers, Sass and Snark is Exchanged Between Matesprits In Good Spirit, Newspaper Ironing is Discussed and Discarded, A Message is Received and Digested, A Seadweller is Harassed For Good Reason, A Favor Requested Over A Bribe of Coffee, Memories Discussed and Contemplated, and Karkat is STILL Not Amused By The Situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a long time coming only because it has been hard to work on stuff like this. Life has been busy. But I bring you a new chapter. Also, there is a bit of bad mouthing of coffee. I'm a tea drinker, and it translates into some of the characters, their their opinions are far stronger than my own.

“Ah, good morning, Kanaya. I was not expecting to see you awake this early.”

“Good morning to yourself as well, Miss Lalonde. I have already seen to the brewing of a pot of your bitter swill. You are welcome to partake of it to your heart's content, provided you retain a single cup for your sister. It serves as a satisfactory 'pick-me-up' for her after a night of drinking.”

“Yes, I suppose that is a fitting request that I shall endeavor to fulfill. Provided, of course, there is one thing that you give me in exchange...”

“Oh? And why do you believe that you have the right to offer an exchange when I have already granted you a boon? I do believe, Miss Lalonde, that you do not quite understand the means through which fair exchanges take place.”

“But Kanaya, I do promise that my price is worthwhile.”

With that Rose's slender fingers appeared at the top of the newspaper that Kanaya had actually stopped perusing when she had heard Rose's distinctive foot falls in the kitchen—Rose and Roxy insisted that since she was living with them in a human domicile she was to use human terminology. Kanaya just smiled as Rose pushed down on the paper, wrinkling and tearing it until Kanaya willingly lowered it. The flimsy barrier between them gone, Rose leaned in and pressed her warm lips against hers and before letting Kanaya turn it into something deeper she chuckled deep in the back of her throat and pulled away. A smirk curled her black covered lips, which were now smeared with jade. The color, Kanaya had always felt, looked good on her. 

“What do you think? Was that worth paying?”

“It depends on what you mean by 'worth paying,'” Kanaya chuckled, freeing her paper from Rose's grip and carefully folding it up. More likely than not she would wish to read it later, and she would prefer it to be in as close to pristine state as was reasonably possible. Kanaya was mostly just glad that she was not expected to behave in the same manner as Rose and Roxy's lusii, as then she might be forced to iron the newspaper. In fact, maybe she should suggest such an idea to Rose. It would likely prove amusing in the ongoing battle of passive-aggressiveness that the family shared. 

“Now Kanaya, you know I prefer to avoid your sense of humor before I have my coffee.”

“Then do please have your bitter brew and leave me to my tea.”

“I can't believe you drink that,” Rose sighed, moving towards the coffee pot. “It's merely boiled leaves.”

“And yours is boiled desiccated beans,” Kanaya countered, chuckling behind her dainty tea cup. Dave had informed her that it was traditional for humans to drink their tea from such delicate items, and while she was certain he was attempting to make her look more ironic, Kanaya was certain that the look was actually quite fetching from the way Rose gave her appreciative looks over the brim of her mug. 

“Gods, you're both unbearable in the mornings!” Roxy half shouted, half yawned as she shuffled into the kitchen. Unlike Rose or Kanaya herself, Roxy was still in her sleeping clothes and looked utterly disheveled. She was not one who was prone to the enjoyment of the early hours of the day. In that way she almost reminded Kanaya of Karkat.

“Thinking about Karkat?” Rose asked, her voice clearly filled with amusement. “You've got that dreamy look on your face.”

“I don't know what you are speaking about,” Kanaya found herself whispering, though she could feel her blood rushing to her cheeks. There was a twinkle in Rose's eyes that said that she could see the faint green coloring of her cheeks. 

“Are you two about to start into that this early in the morning?” Roxy moaned as she sat at the table and sipped at her scalding hot coffee. “Fine, I'll end this now. Rose, you're her flushed, so stop meddling. Kanaya, just get over it and tell Karkat you're pale. Everything settled? Good. Now shut up and let me drink.”

“Roxy!” Kanaya gasped, certain that her blush was only deepening. “I hardly believe that you are suited to involving yourself in...”

Roxy was saved from a fitting tongue lashing by the sound of Roxy's phone chiming to announce a message. Truly she was saved by the bell. 

“Ugh, who wants to bug me this early in the morning?” Roxy asked, slamming her head against the table. That being said, Kanaya watched her head pop back up almost instantly, and her hands fish around in her pocket for her communication device. 

“Roxy, what have we said about phones at the dinner table?” 

“Don't have them,” Roxy offered, but then smiled at them triumphantly. “But this is the breakfast table.”

“They are the same table,” Kanaya protested, even as Rose shook her head.

“Touche. Alright, answer your message, but your punishment is that you have to read the message to the whole table.”

“Sure, whatever. Unless it's something naughty that that creep Cronus sent me. None of us want to hear that.”

Kanaya tilted her head in acknowledgment of Roxy's point. No one wanted to have to see or hear that. Ever.

“Uh, it's from Dirk. Apparently Dave was really late getting back last night.”

“Unsurprising considering the state that Karkat's place was likely left in last night. Karkat would have shouted at him until he promised to help clean up,” Rose observed, and Kanaya nodded in agreement. As much as she hated to admit it, Karkat was quite prone to being harsh when he felt he was wronged. Hopefully she would be able to work that sort of behavior out of him. But it would take time. 

“No, that's not it,” Roxy insisted, frowning at her communication device. “Apparently someone named Erifin or something showed up on his doorstep and passed out...”

A sharp pain shot through Kanaya's fingers as the tea cup shattered in her grip. Both Rose and Roxy's eyes snapped towards her, but Kanaya found herself replaying Roxy's words in her head rather than pay attention to the two. 

Eridan Ampora was back in Ristart. Well, she would soon deal with that, wouldn't she?

* * * * * *

“So what am I to do with you?” Porrim found herself asking as she sipped at her steaming cup of tea. 

The question, of course, was aimed at the troll stretched out on the couch in the entertainmentblock. A small part of her was grateful for the fact that Dave had thrown the poor troll into Karkat's ablution trap the night before. The couch was new and quite tasteful, one she had spent a full month in the selection of, and having it ruined by a dirty hiveguest would have been unspeakably horrible. Of course the greater part of her was annoyed by the small part and brushed it off. It was not as if her matesprit would judge her by the quality of her couch. As if Rosalind would care about such simple things. She was too far above caring such a thing. 

Again Porrim sighed, this time in annoyance at the fact that Eridan was still sleeping. What was the source of this obsession some of her fellows had in sleeping in so late? It was not as if this world possessed a sun which mandated life by night. It made no sense. Yet there were still those, such as Kankri and apparently Eridan, who preferred living by night. It made no sense. The world was more beautiful in the light of the sun than it was by the mixed light of the moons. Besides, she could hardly throw her day away awaiting her guest's waking. There was much to be done and she hardly had Damara's demonstrated ability to shift into a different perception of time so she could cover it all. 

Once more Porrim sipped at her tea, only to shudder in distaste at the chill it had managed to develop. How long now had she been waiting? No matter. The answer was too long and she refused to give more of her precious time over to the task. The remains of the tea went down the sink, replaced by as cold water as was possible from the tap. From there she made her way into the entertainmentblock and frowned at what she was faced with. 

“Eridan, I would ask you to wake now, before I must take matters into my own hands. I warn you, you will not find my methods pleasant.”

The response she received was a barely visible flick of his fins, a groan, and Eridan proceeding to roll over to ignore her. Well, then, she was going to deal with this her own way. Luckily she had learned more than enough from dealing with Cronus to know how to handle a seadweller. Carefully she pressed her nails into the tender flesh at the base of his facial fin—nowhere near hard enough to cause lasting damage of course—and was rewarded almost instantly with a loud yelp of pain. 

“Good morning, Eridan. Glad to see that you have finally awaken. There is so much for us to accomplish today. Best for us to get as early of a start as is reasonable.”

“Did you just try to tear off my fin?” Eridan screamed, his voice pitched painfully high. 

“Rest assured, Ampora, if I desired to pull your fins off, I would have achieved such. Now, if you'd be so good as to...”

“I don't want to be so good as to. I don't know how long you let me sleep before trying to take my fins off, but it wasn't long enough. My body...”

“Could stand to adjust to a more reasonable schedule. That being said, given the freedom of time to allow for your continued rest, I would gladly allow it. As it is, though, there is a bit that must be done before you are set up comfortably enough to recover. The first of those requires you to be fed and dressed within the next ten minutes. The hygieneblock is behind that door. Please do not be too loud; Kankri is not an early riser and is not necessary for our current plans. I will have some fresh food ready for you when you complete your morning hygiene tasks. There is a spare fangscraper in the mirrored cabinet. The one that is not red or green, of course. Hand towels are in the linen storage. If you are quick I might see that some of Kankri's roe cubes join the broth I shall...”

Eridan was bolting off before she even had a chance to finish. Truly the power that a promise of roe cubes had on seadwellers or crimsonbloods had long since ceased to surprise Porrim. More often than not she had taken to using such treats—particularly the high end ones that were seasoned with hot spices—to convince Kankri, Karkat, or Cronus to do something she wished of them. If only there was an equivalent item that made the others so receptive to her ends. Well, there was an odd affection among the Striders for fruit flavored beverages, but they were beyond trusting people who offered them such, but there was little beyond that. Now she just had to prepare some suitably hearty broth for Eridan, not to mention some of the coffee that her assistant for the day quite enjoyed. 

“Yo Porrim! Open up!” 

Speak of the devilbeast.

“The door is unlocked. You are welcome to join me in the foodprepblock,” she called back, not bothering to keep her voice quiet. For all that she had implied to Eridan that Kankri was a light sleeper, he was quite the opposite. It took efforts on the level of a human celebratory march to awaken him against his will. The intention had been to keep the violetblood's presence quiet from her current guest. Cronus, after all, was unaware that he was about to be roped in to one of Porrim's pet projects. Together they were going to not only get Eridan back on his feet, but to the bottom of his sudden appearance on Karkat's doorstep. 

* * * * * *

“The door is unlocked. You are welcome to join me in the foodprepblock,” Porrim's voice cut through the door, and Cronus wasn't about to turn away from the wonderful offer. He took a moment to run a comb through his hair to make sure it was neat, took a few squirts of breath freshener, and turned the knob of the door of the most swank hivestem set-up he'd ever seen. Porrim had been working on classing this place up ever since they had come to Ristart, and it showed. It was almost a serious shame that the lady had her eyes on that human Lalonde lusus that was but wasn't quite the same as the human Light player. The humans had some really freaky genetics stuff going on.

It was all so unbelievably enviable. 

“Ah, Porrim, babe, what brings you to a place like this?” Cronus asked as he strolled in to the foodprepblock, and refused to even flinch at the burning depths of the glare Porrim shot at him. That babe had wonderfully fiery eyes that didn't quite fit with the cool confidence she lived with. 

“I live here, as you are well aware,” she responded, her voice smoky and rich and sounding like something out of a movie where there was some sort of femme fatale who ruled the screen with her very presence. Damn, what a girl. “Sit. We have some matters to discuss before I explain just why I have called you here this morning.”

“Not a problem,” he responded, grinning around his toothpick and taking one of the seats at the table. For a moment he moved to put his feet up on the edge of the table, only to freeze as he remembered what had happened last time he'd tried. The pan-ache had lasted hours, and the ringing in his ears from her tongue lashing had kept up far longer than that. Better not to cross this broad. “Just say the word and I'll be happy to serve you in whatever way I can.”

“You can start by restraining yourself from further comments along those lines. Especially if you want some of my special brew.”

Well, if there was special coffee being offered, far be it from him to risk the ire of Porrim. So he sat there, silently watching Porrim—keeping his eyes from inspecting her too closely of course—as she went through the motions of preparing coffee. Okay, so maybe he wasn't so silent, because as soon as Porrim had set the beans to brewing, she moved to the pantry and pulled out a can of moobeast broth. 

“Far be it from me to criticize your cooking, Porrim, but I don't think that stuff mixes well with coffee.”

The look she shot him was one that would have killed him had it that power. Thank himself that she didn't have those kinds of powers. Okay, so maybe she did and he just didn't know it. He really wished he'd paid more attention when they had gotten together after the last of them made it to Ristart a few years back. One of the humans, the time one if his memory was right, hadn't even hesitated when someone had asked for the time to see if they needed to get back home. The human had instantly spouted the time without looking at any device, right down to the millisecond. Damara and her dancestor had immediately nodded their confirmation to the time, and before long the conversation had devolved into how everyone's aspects were still echoed in them. He hadn't been paying too much attention, though, and while he was certain that at least one of the space girls could kill with a thought, he wasn't sure of which or how. He thought it was the human, she'd been a witch and had more control over her aspect, but that didn't mean that Porrim didn't have enough to deal with any grief he gave her, intentionally or otherwise. 

“The broth is not for you or the swill you and Kankri prefer,” Porrim informed him, her voice impossibly level for the cutting edge of that glare. How could a woman that beautiful be so cold? It was one of the greatest mysteries of this world, this universe, or any other. “I am a master foodprepartist, I would never contemplate the ruining of such a staple of cuisine as broth with such a foul tasting waste of fluids as your coffee.”

“Hey, wouldn't Kankri tell you that everyone is entitled to their own opinions about coffee? Denying me that opinion would be...”

“I could just remove you from my home.”

That shut him up. For all that Porrim loathed coffee herself, she kept some high quality stuff around. More for her 'beloved Rosalind' than anything else. Not even Kankri was offered the stuff all that much, and he lived with her. What kind of friend was she to hold such a tasty treat just in reach and yet so impossibly far away?

“Well, I imagine this ain't a social call, so what's up, Porrim? What could you possibly want from me?”

She sighed—how did she even manage to pull that off with elegance—and pulled the carafe from the brewer, pouring a steaming stream of coffee from it into a white mug in her other hand as she glided to the table. No sooner was she holding the cup out to him than he found himself wrapping his hands around it, accepting of the almost searing heat the mug offered even as it made his fingers sting. Yet another thing to envy humans for. Yes, he'd heard many people complain about overly hot cups, but they could not even begin to fathom just how painful it was to hold a cup of freshly brewed coffee with seadweller hands. It was a little torture that he accepted day in and day out, to the point where his hands stung even at the thought of coffee. That didn't make the wonders of the brew any less miraculous. 

That being said he didn't hold it long. The earliest second it was polite he lowered his mug to the table and just leaned forward to inhale the rich scent as Porrim retrieved the sugar and creamer. The former was plopped down before him first, a shallow dish that was clearly meant to go with some elaborate tea set that he'd never see the rest of, but he suspected the origin of the implied set. After all, where else would a charming yet tasteful white bowl painted with a bethorned jade rose come from? The choice was likely one made for the sake of irony, considering all those Strider-Lalondes seemed to be aroused by the very idea of irony. It was shameful. 

“Smells like cinnamon,” Cronus almost purred at the scent, then immediately regretted the sound. From the not-quite-smile gracing Porrim's lips she was amused by the involuntary reaction, and he couldn't help but blush. How could a troll of such self control as himself make such a mistake as purring in front of another troll? Oh well, at least it was Porrim, she wasn't likely to share his embarrassment with everyone else they knew. 

“I will grant humanity one thing above nearly all others,” Porrim offered as she sat herself at the small table. “This cinnamon of theirs is a marvelous creation.”

“Are you certain that it's theirs?” he asked as Porrim pushed the sugar dish across the table toward him. 

“From what I understand of the growing environment of the originating plant life, it is unlikely to be from Alternia or Beforus,” she responded, her face contorted into that part intent, part confused look that almost all of them got when they tried to dredge up memories of their lives before Alearus. 

It was a frustration that Cronus was as familiar with as anyone else. They retained a grip on the major events that had painted their journeys through Sgrub and Sburb, they knew the general points of the major parts of their lives before that, but only a few had anything resembling details on the larger picture, or even the smaller parts of their lives before the games. The light players—or should he say player at this point seeing as the Serkets had disappeared with Meenah a long while ago—had details on a larger scale in relation to the game itself, and the Seer of Mind remembered things that had driven them and important choices that had lead to their ultimate fate. Apparently the time players could still rattle off how many alternate selves they had created, that had died, and how. Kankri, from Cronus's limited conversations about the past had told him, remembered better than pretty much everyone, to a level that pretty much put all other aspects and classes to shame, but even he didn't grasp the true breadth that their memories had to cover. He remembered a lot of the game, of his life on Beforus, and even a bit about the time in the bubbles and watching other sessions, but the detail and the memories that Cronus was certain had to exist weren't there even for that apparently ideal blend of aspect and class. 

“It's sad to think we had to live lives without experiencing it,” Cronus said at last, slowly measuring out his needed sugar. 

“Is that why you all but inhale the stuff?” 

“Maybe,” he laughed, stirring and smiling at her. “I suppose the better question is just why you're breaking out the quality cinnamon stuff for me. Just what horrible favor are you going to ask from me in exchange?”

It was supposed to be a joke, but from the way that Porrim was looking at him, not quite smiling, not quite annoyed, it was far from it. 

“Oh, look here,” he found himself saying, lifting his mug by the handle and looking at it as if for the first time. “There's a string attached to my coffee.”

“When isn't there? Do you really expect me to brew up such a pricy brew if I wasn't expecting to receive something in return?”

“A guy can hope,” he sighed, but that didn't stop him from lifting the mug and taking in another deep breath of the glorious, cinnamon rich scent of the coffee. “So, what am I doing?”

“I have need of an assistant for some work that must be completed sooner rather than later. You see, I have an evening planned with Rosalind and...”

“Oh please tell me that you need additional company for the two of you...”

Apparently he had been wrong earlier, because it was truly the look Porrim was giving him now that could kill a troll. Other looks had nothing on this one. It was astounding how much he had overestimated that earlier look. 

“Oh come on, Porrim, it's just a joke.”

“One that, if you repeat, will find you removed permanently from my residency. No amount of pleading from Kankri would cause me to commute the sentence either.”

Instead of responding he just threw his hands up in defeat. Saying anything else was far too risky for his future enjoyment of cinnamon enriched coffee. After a minute that seemed to appease Porrim, and she shook her head. 

“As you might have concluded from Karkat's invasion of your residency last night, things have gotten themselves... complicated. How much did Karkat tell you of the details?”

“None, really,” Cronus admitted, frowning into his coffee as he tried to figure out just where this was going. “Well, that isn't true. He said some mutt showed up on his doorstep and you and Strider were insistent on caring for it. Said he needed clothes and I was the closest fucking size.”

“No need to swear over this,” Porrim reprimanded him, her eyes narrowed. 

“They weren't my words, they were his. Because that was about all the detail he gave me before pushing past and going to raid my respiteblock for things.”

“He...” Porrim started to snarl in a pointedly unladylike fashion, before calming herself. “I will deal with that. Karkat will arrive with a proper apology for you quite soon, I assure you.”

Ouch. That kid was not going to like it when Porrim went to town on him. Not that Cronus much cared; he was like Kankri but with less interesting conversation topics and more self-loathing. Not attractive at all. 

“Don't worry about it. But anyway, you said something about your sprit and needing my help. What does that have to do with me?”

“I have quite a bit of work to be done today,” Porrim continued as if she had not been interrupted. “Yet there are things that must be done for the betterment of my guest's state. Among these is shopping for clothing that is not... yours. I will provide the funding for the clothing, as well as for transportation, but I will leave his guidance and safe return here to you.”

“That's it? You just want me to drag Karkat's little foundling out for a shopping trip?”

“I would not have brought out cinnamon coffee for something so simple,” she admitted, her look hardening to one of true contemplation. Shit, what was so serious that Porrim was actually hesitating over asking him?

“Rosalind...”

“Oh,” Cronus gasped, suddenly realizing just what she was about to hint at. “Don't worry about it. Kankri can have the couch and the foundling... Well, I'll find a place.”

The smile Porrim gave him was one of the most genuine ones he'd ever seen from her. It was wide, not quite open, but definitely relieved. 

“Thank you, Cronus. You are a genuine friend.”

“Think nothing of it. Just, I don't know, get me a small thing of this stuff for Winter Holiday or something?”

“Provided you don't attempt to flirt with my matesprit, something may be able to be arranged.”

“Good. Now,” Cronus said after taking another large swig of the coffee. “Does this foundling have a name?”

“Oh fucking hell. What's he doing here?” 

Well, that was all the answer he needed. After all, how could he mistake that accent, even after all this time?

* * * * * *

Walking across the street and into the communalhivestem was easy. Moving through the halls and letting the lingering gazes of those trolls she passed roll off of her like water over waxed paper was even easier. Standing in front of Karkat's door and bringing herself to knock was harder than it had ever been before. For reasons she couldn't quite describe the standing there with the knowledge she had felt almost familiar. There were flashes in her head, brief and almost painful, of watching someone she desired in a red quadrant turning away from her for reasons she couldn't fathom. Once she might have considered it strange to not understand why it felt so familiar and unplaceable, but Rose had more than once soothed her concerns away and assured her that there were parts of their shared past that no one should have to remember. Not that she didn't possess many salient details. She was certain to the marrow of her bones that Eridan had destroyed something important to her that she had sworn to protect and see to its fate before killing her. That memory of sudden and searing pain had been what had been there when she had awoken to her memories. She'd sat bolt upright on her slab one night, screaming at the remembered pain and clawing at her stomach. Of course in that moment the ring-like pattern of skin blemishes on her stomach that humans referred to as 'birthmarks' had suddenly made gruesome sense. 

It hadn't been until she had re-met Rose that she'd accepted the life the memories offered her. And it hadn't been until Karkat that she had found herself wishing to know more of them. There were too many pains, too many fears, too many traumas there, lingering below the surface, that he only hinted at partway through a romcom marathon, or when he had fallen asleep with his head pillowed on her legs. 

Two nights prior, before Dave's unexpected party, had been a night like that. Kanaya had come over for another marathon, this time of the popular human 'reality show' called 'Say Yes to the Dress' about human females acquiring the traditional white gowns used during human matespritship ceremonies. Kanaya watched it because of her mixed love and hatred for the styles and Karkat just enjoyed shouting at the women for being so stupid. Somehow, between commercials and breaks to prepare popcorn, the conversation had turned from the ridiculous amount of time and money that humans invested into garments when troll handfasting ceremonies were so simple, to discussions about what they would look for in their own matesprits someday. Karkat had, once again, fallen asleep with his head on her legs and her fingers scratching around the base of one of his horns, only to devolve into nightmares that had him writhing and pleading her not to be dead. It had taken long, too long, to wake him, and after he'd all but refused to discuss it, but the fear and horror in his eyes had been enough. He had been there when she had died, he had watched it, and he was haunted by it.

Why he had been cursed with what had to be detailed memories of her death was unknowable, but it had only been one more reason to pity him. 

Which was, in a way, how she had come to be here now, standing at Karkat's door and all but—how was it Rose put it—gnawing at the scenery. What she had heard this morning had not comforted her in the slightest. How was it even possible that Eridan had dared to show his finned face in Ristart? 

No, that wasn't what she was going to think about now. No. She was here to see Karkat, like they'd promised each other during the party. Eridan was a thought to be put entirely out of her mind. There were more important things right now. Far more important things. Like knocking on the door once, twice, thrice. 

“I swear to FUCK that if that is someone trying to dump that bottom-dwelling scum-sucking, nook-licking fuck head on my doorstep again, I can’t be held accountable for the shitkicking that comes!”

Kanaya actually found herself smiling at the all but screamed response to her knocking. Maybe spending time with Karkat and taking time out of her life to loathe Eridan weren't mutually exclusive after all.


	5. Part Four - Let's Go To The Mall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Questionably Legal Drugs Change Hands, An Establishment of Mixed Purchasing Power is Visited to Improve Upon a Lacking Wardrobe, a Cheerful Catgirl Makes Her Presence Known Very Loudly, Eridan Refuses to Be Separated From the Comfort of His Scarf, Cronus Takes His Younger Self to Task For Behavior Around the Deaf, Clothing Is Ultimately Bought, Lunch is Decided Upon, and Cronus's Inner Romantic Mourns for Eridan's Less Than Stellar Timing and Choice of Affections.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here's the deal. This story has been delayed for a while because at first there was a scene I didn't want to write. It was the continuation of Kanaya's arrival at Karkat's home, and as I wrote I kept realizing that everything I was doing there could EASILY be ruined by the pending end of Homestuck. At last the stalling led me to the start of the Gigapause, and I realized that here was my chance. Much of the future Karkat/Gamzee, and Gamzee/Kanaya interactions are heavily dependent upon where and how Homestuck ends. I need to know where these characters are left in relation to each other to give this story my all on their front. And so I came to a decision: I was going to hiatus. I wanted to see the end of Homestuck to make this story be everything it can be. I will, of course, ignore any details that completely ruin what I'm doing here (such as Hussie actually giving us an epilogue that says what happens to everyone), and I'll throw out details on the way that need to be gone to create the AU I want. But I want to make this story as good as possible, and so I'm taking a break after this chapter. Thus we end up with a shorter chapter that is almost exclusively focused on Eridan. Forgive me, but that is what this has to be.
> 
> I tried to get in contact with the requester to run this decision by them, but I have not been able to reach her. With that in mind I have finally opted to do what I was suggesting to the requester.
> 
> I always wanted to do side stories with this series. I wanted to explore how characters got where they were, how they handled the awakening of their memories, and a few other things. I always worried I'd never be able to do so because of how busy I was. Now, though, those stories are coming. If you're reading this on Ao3 you might notice that this story has now become part of a series: Alearustuck. If you're reading this elsewhere, well, I'll try my best to make sure that Alearustuck stories are clearly noted to be so in their summaries so you can find them. I'll be diving into side stories to fill the time until the gigapause is over and I'm comfortable finishing the story. Sorry. That is just what I need to do. Even when the Gigapause ends I may continue the pause here for a while to keep doing the other stories. I hope you can forgive me this, but as a writer this is what I feel needs to happen to give this story the chance to be the best it can be. 
> 
> I hope that the first Alearustuck one-shot will be coming soon, so keep your eyes out. I hope to see you there.

He comes awake with the sunrise, bathed in the motherfucking miracles of the dawn. The first words his pan plays with are the traditional morning meditations upon the three-fold goddess of space, a thanks for the creation of life, light, and a place for them to live. Not that he can do much more than laugh when he thinks of the fucking words. Morning always meant thanking the goddess in the aspect of the Stringer of Stars, for giving the world warmth and light. As if that was ever something she did. Messed the fuck up with his wicked brother, corrupting the world and dooming them all. Not that he hadn't had more than two hands in that as well, but that wasn't even up and important in the grand scheme. 

Still, it's nice to feel the sun on his face, to feel the light and the heat and look up and not be blind. It's one of the wicked miracles of this life, maybe one of the few he'd ever get to experience, especially with the recent turn of events. 

He'd seen it last night, all up and got his wicked peepers on an old problem come home to roost. Eridan motherfucking Ampora had dragged himself back into town, looking sorry and beaten down like he deserved to be. In a moment of watching he'd remembered the last time he had seen Ampora alive, or at least what his pan told him was the last time. The three of them had stood together in that high place, the Spider, the Fish, and the Clown. All up and motherfucking getting their showdown on until, just before the strike, they had been interrupted. Eridan's own motherfucking avenging angel, in that life and this one, considering how steamed the regal sister had looked when he'd watched her storm across the street this morning. There was a small voice in his pan that said that wasn't the last time they had seen each other. There were memories, fuzzy and faint and almost unreal when he looked at them, that said that he'd met Eridan before hitting the streets. But no, those memories were hard to catch, hard to hold on to when he tried. They slipped through his fingers like water or sand, holding no promise and all sorts of wicked lies. 

“Yo, what up my wicked brother?” 

Gamzee slowly turned his attention from the stoop in front of the communalhivestem and put on his widest lazy grin as he turned his head to look at the lanky human who had strode up to him. The man was familiar, passingly so, and yet the sight of him launched a motherfucking yearning in Gamzee that he knew had to be filled.

“You up and got the stuff?” Gamzee whispered at the arriving motherfucker, still smiling and watching just how uncomfortable it made the human. There was just something about them that made them uncomfortable around a mouth full of fangs. Weaklings. 

“Yeah, I got the stuff. You got the payment?”

Gamzee fished around in his pockets and at last came up with a handful of crumpled bills and loose change. The human frowned at the sight, but at last held out a hand to receive the payment. Both of them knew that Gamzee's payment was more of a courtesy than anything else. It wasn't like he couldn't break the human in half without even trying. But Gamzee brought him customers, Gamzee didn't throttle him, and Gamzee kept the streets clear of other dealers. For that he paid far less for premium product, which the dealer happily handed over before making off like a flapbeast out of hell. 

And Gamzee? Well, he sat himself down in the shadows of his alley and pried open the little baggy that had been thrust into his possession. For a moment he stared at the meager collection of pills. They weren't as tasty as sopor pies, but they were good, damn good. They brought the colors back to his eyes, made the world look as illusory as it felt. It made his blood tingle and his pulse flow. They got him through the day, and from what he'd seen last night, he was going to need it. Things were changing, and he wasn't sure he liked just where it was going to lead. 

* * * * * *

“Cronus? M! O! G! What are you doing here?!”

There was little for Eridan to do but sigh and hide as much of his face as possible behind the thick coils of his scarf. It had taken almost five minutes of concentrated pleading to get Porrim to surrender the thing to him uncleaned and unmended. In the end it had taken a hard won promise to hand the scarf over to Rose upon his return for mending and Cronus offering to let Eridan stay with him to win Porrim over. The scarf was the only part of his own wardrobe that he'd been allowed to retain for his trip out into public. It looked ridiculous next to the borrowed jeans and t-shirt of Cronus', but it was familiar and comforting, a shield against the strange world of familiar faces. It was all he had to protect him from the cheerful catgirl all but bounding toward him and his older doppelganger. 

“Yo, Meu, what's up?” Cronus greeted, but only after removing the toothpick from his mouth. 

“I was just asking you that!” Meulin Leijon laughed, her voice louder than was strictly necessary in the hustle and bustle of the mall. “Is that little Ampurra with you? MOG! When did he come back? Oh, look at the poor thing in your terrible clothes! He needs something better...”

Eridan watched as Cronus raised both of his hands in a shooshing gesture, waiting for her to notice before speaking. It was strange to see considering how happy Cronus was to talk over him and Porrim at what had passed as breakfast. 

“We're here to get him new clothes. He ain't got any of his own 'cept the old stuff, you know?”

“He doesn't have anything?” Meulin asked, pulling an excessively sad face at that. “Why not?”

Cronus sighed and turned his attention to Eridan. “Your business. You explain.”

“Why should I?” Eridan demanded, his voice muffled behind his scarf. 

“Shit, don't be so rude!” Cronus snapped even as he whacked Eridan upside the head. “Sorry, Meu. Apparently he's forgetful. Give me a moment, okay?”

Meulin nodded, smiling just like the cat on her sweater as Cronus bodily dragged Eridan away from her. Once there was a bit of distance between her and them, Cronus turned them both to make sure they weren't facing Meulin, then shot Eridan a dirty look. 

“Geez, you're so insensitive!” Cronus growled, shaking his head. “Get your head on straight. Don't fucking hide behind that scarf like an asshole. Meu's deaf, you douchewad. Reads lips like a champ, but it doesn't work if you got your fool ass mouth covered. Your accent will be hard enough on her as it is. Talk normally, but always make sure that she's looking at you when you speak. Normally we wave a little to get her attention if we want to say something. Never talk to her while chewing something. It alters the mouth shape. And don't whisper or shout, that fucks things up too. Be nice to her. Memories ain't much, but she takes hers of Sgrub pretty hard compared to most of us cuz of what Kurloz did to her.”

“What did he...?”

“Ain't your fucking business. Most of us agreed to try and put all that behind us. We ain't the same people we were back then, so we try to remember that and be friends.”

If only the same could be so easily done for the Alternian trolls. Then again, Eridan had committed far worse crimes than most of the Beforans. After all, he had killed two of his friends and severely injured a third. And for what? Because he had lost faith. Because he had refused to see the hope and potential within the human session. Even now Karkat hated him for it, and Eridan expected even worse from Fef, Kan, and Sol. Even thinking about it made him wonder just why it was he had bothered returning to Ristart. 

“Okay, now that you know the rules, let's get back to Meu. We were lucky to run into her. She's got to be on her break now, but we'll follow her back when she gets back on shift. Meu works at Fashionable Impressions, and she can get us a discount for you. The ten percent staff discount means we can buy ten percent more stuff for you.”

“That isn't quite how it works,” Eridan mumbled, but he lowered his scarf to completely uncover his mouth. 

“Whatever,” Cronus sighed, throwing his arm companionably around Eridan's shoulders. “With Meu and me helping you'll look sharp in no time. Then we're meeting up with Kankri for lunch and we're going to sit down and have a nice talk.”

“A talk?” Eridan asked, unable to keep the fear out of his voice. 

“Yep. Inquiring minds want to know just why you're back and why you chose now.”

Eridan swallowed hard. He had been worried that it would be something like that.

* * * * * *

“So...” Cronus breezed as he dragged a chair away from the food court table with a foot, then flopped down into it in his best fake boneless way, letting the mass of bags fall from his arms in a comic way that made Meulin giggle behind her hands. “Eridan, babe, time for you to start talking.”

The way his young clone rolled his eyes made him want to reach across the table, grab him by the bundled mass of his new scarf, and shake some respect into that glubbing pan. Instead Cronus just smiled widely as Eridan slipped with less showtrollship into one of the chairs, carefully arranging the bags on the floor beside the table. It was almost amusing to see Eridan fuss with them, shifting them this way and that until they were perfectly in line from largest to smallest. No, scratch that, it was funny, mostly because he knew Eridan wasn't the neatest troll. It hadn't taken much time watching the way he interacted with Porrim to figure out that he wasn't one of those poor trolls who were compelled to make everything perfect or suffer from anxiety. This was purely a display of nerves, the same way that Eridan hiding behind his scarf and refolding all of the clothes he'd tried on with military precision had been. Eridan wasn't comfortable around him, not that Cronus could really blame the kid. They all had shortcomings and failures in the past lives they had lived, and those memories were always hard to come to terms with. Hell, Cronus had shut himself inside his hive for a full month when his memories had come back, ashamed of just who he had been and how he had treated trolls he now called his friends. In fact, the first thing he'd done when he'd met Mituna had been to apologize, which had of course confused the other troll since he hadn't awaken to his own memories yet. 

Eridan, though, had pretty good reasons to stress, to have fled before this. Some sins were hard to forgive. Things like what Eridan had done had drove others away from Ristart. Aranea, Vriska, Kurloz, they had all gone off to escape the way they thought others were looking at them—or maybe because of how people were looking at them. Meenah... Well, she had gone because she had always been unable to let herself be bound to one place for any amount of time. But that was beside the point. The point here and now was the younger troll across from him whose fins were drooping in that slight way that any seatroll knew meant Eridan was thinking himself into the worst kind of funk.

“Let him take his own pace,” Meulin chided him, a look of disapproval sketched over her face. “Being seen with someone as lacking in fashion sense as you has to be traumatizing!”

“Aw, Meu, do you have to be so cruel?” Cronus asked, dramatically pressing the back of his hand against his forehead as if he were a vapors prone hysterical dame from one of those old movies Kankri always insisted they watch but spent the whole time through ranting over. “A guy has got to have something uniquely him!”

“Then why force what is you on him?” Meulin demanded, even as she turned to fuss Eridan's scarf into laying more attractively around his neck. Eridan went rigid at the touch, and it almost occurred to Cronus to reach out and stop Meulin's actions. Hadn't Eridan been through enough having the hyper troll fuss over him in the shop for literally two hours? 

“He just reminds me of, well, me,” Cronus offered, smirking at Eridan. The other troll didn't even look up from the table he had been staring at since he finished fussing with the bags. 

“Which is quite inappropriate considering the fact that he is his own person and should be allowed to develop as he sees fit. The similarities that may be inherent in the two of you due to shared genetic makeup is hardly something that justifies any attempt you might make to push your own styles, opinions, or goals upon him. Thus I would...”

“Hey, Kankri,” Cronus sighed, not even turning his head to look at the newcomer to the conversation. Kankri huffed in that way he always did when someone interrupted his flow of thought and sat himself next to Cronus. From the corner of his eyes he could see Kankri not-quite glaring at him in the way he did when people got him out of his best rants, and then it was Cronus's turn not to giggle. He was too used to handling Kankri these days, and it was always its own kind of fun to deflate his uptight friend. “About time you joined the party. What do we want to eat today?”

“Sushi!” Meulin cheered, finally leaving off her fussing over Eridan's new clothes. At last Eridan seemed to relax around the fins, but Cronus could tell by the tension in his shoulders—a tension he was used to himself—that he was by no means pleased to be stuck with the three of them. 

“For the last time, Meu, they don't serve sushi here,” Cronus sighed, leaning forward to shift most of his weight onto the point where his arms were crossed on the table.

“You didn't ask me what we were going to eat. Just what we wanted,” Meulin laughed at him, before letting her eyes cast around the food court. It was a mystery just why she did that every time he asked, she knew the restaurants and offerings here better than he did, and yet she always acted like there was a new experience to be had. Oh well, to each their own. 

“Salad,” Kankri offered, the same choice as every other day that they met for lunch. One of these days Cronus was going to trick him into eating meat other than roe cubes and Kankri was going to be so enchanted that he'd give up this whole human concept of veganism. After all, humans evolved to be omnivores. Trolls, on the other hand, had always been carnivores. Acting otherwise was just ridiculous. 

“How about you, Eridan?” Cronus asked, smiling at his personal mini-me. “I know a place here that does a killer cheese steak. Huge ones too, great for filling the stomach.”

“Porrim said I should take it easy,” Eridan mumbled, again ducking his face into the apparent safety of his scarf. “That my stomach isn't ready to...”

“There's a small place that does some good soups,” Kankri suggested, already rising from his seat. “I'll treat you to something brothy. Porrim shouldn't have too much of an issue with that. Meulin, why don't you come with me to help carry stuff. We both know what Cronus wants anyway.”

There was a moment where confusion clearly crossed Meulin's face. Then her eyes sought Cronus out and met across the table, and he gave her just the tiniest little nod. She understood, and immediately jumped to her feet to trail after Kankri. Cronus almost smiled thankfully at them. They were smart, his friends, and realized that Eridan needed time. Time and maybe a sensitive ear to open up to before he really started talking. Which meant leaving someone behind that could, and had in a way, easily be in Eridan's own shoes. Far nicer shoes now than they had been this morning, even Cronus had to admit that. Porrim had doled out a decent bit of her savings to see Eridan well equipped for starting his life over, to the point where Cronus was almost jealous.

“How do you make up for not one, but two lives of fucking up everything?” Eridan asked after a moment, his voice barely a whisper through the scarf. 

Well... This was sure going to be a conversation. Cronus leaned back in his seat once more, frowning pretty hard as he thought about it. At least Eridan was opening up to him, but he wasn't expecting that question so fast. 

“Do you always go straight for the hard questions?” Cronus questioned right back after a moment of thought. With a sigh he shook his head and met Eridan's eyes, holding them and refusing to let him look away. All he could do was hope that it would really work, and shock of all shocks Eridan just sat there, staring at him. “Listen, there have been a lot of people trying to figure out the answer to that question for centuries. The short version is that no one really knows.”

“And the long?” Eridan asked, his voice a pained whisper.

“You never stop trying. You throw yourself on their mercy and dedicate yourself to making it better. And if they tell you to leave, to just go away and never be in their line of sight again... Well, you just do that,” he answered after taking a long moment to think. “If a hurt is too great to forgive, then the only thing you can offer them is whatever reparations they ask for, even if they hurt you.”

“And... If you have feelings for them?”

Cronus froze, and he knew from his reflection in Eridan's glasses that he looked like an antlerbeast in the headlights. 

“Then you give everything you have to figuring which is worse: them blaming you for what you've done wrong, or living your life with them never having known what they meant to you.”

“That's what I was worried you'd say,” Eridan mumbled before all but collapsing onto the table, burying his face into his arms. It took everything Cronus had not to catch the younger troll up in his arms and shoosh his tears away. Instead he watched on, acting as nonchalant as he could while making loud comments that sounded like a conversation but was mostly just him trying to keep the strangers of the food court from knowing the pain Eridan was feeling. Well, there was that, and a new resolution to do everything he could to help Eridan to mend bridges burned in a previous life.


End file.
